By the River's Edge
by eellewzeeya
Summary: With the boroughs on the brink of war, Spot finds himself dealing with a more difficult challenge when the girl he loved and lost reappears to him amidst the alliances.
1. Chapter 1

It was normal for Spot Conlon to find himself sitting on the docks of Brooklyn, perched above all the humanity of the city. On any other occasion his thoughts might be occupied by trivial things, but not that day. Everything had happened so suddenly, he had nothing else to think about except the potential demise of everything he had built up around him for years.

Queens was coming. They were sick of their borders and they were coming for Brooklyn – his kingdom. His ego wanted him to believe they were safe, that there was no way anything could happen. The more he thought about it, the more he didn't believe it. Queens was tough. Tougher than Brooklyn? Doubtful. But they had numbers on their side, and an aggression to expand their territory. He was seriously starting to question whether or not they could hold their own against Queens for as long as it would take. That was why he had sent word to the Bronx.

Together, with the Bronx, they would be unbeatable. It was perfect. They would have Queens surrounded, and then what would happen? Everything would stay the way it was – if not get better for those who came out on top. Brooklyn, that was. Perhaps theirs would be the borders that expanded. He paused in his thoughts, reminding himself not to get cocky before anything happened. He had gotten word back from the Bronx but he was waiting for their liaison to arrive. From what he knew, it was going to be one of the boys higher up in the system. Not the leader, certainly, but someone close.

"Spot?" A painfully familiar voice broke him from his thoughts, and his heart sunk as he forced himself to look down. He fought to keep his expression controlled as he laid eyes on her, the one girl that broke his heart before he had a chance to break hers. She hadn't changed, as far as looks went; she still was one of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen. Her dark hair and eyes, her lightly tanned skin – it was all he could do not to jump off his perch and ask her back. But that wasn't a thing the leader of Brooklyn should do. Not to the girl who ditched him. Especially when he didn't know why she was there.

"Cecelia," he greeted, climbing down slowly. "What's the honor?" She didn't speak, though she looked like she was fighting with herself not to. Her slender fingers found the cord that looped around her neck and she pulled it over her head. His eyes searched her face for any lingering emotion, but there was nothing to be found. His heart sunk further as he saw the pendant she held. It was a nail twisted into the shape of an 'X' – the symbol of the Bronx. She was his liason.

"Jones sent me," she said, looking up at him with those bottomless eyes of hers. Those eyes that had always bent his will.

"Of course he did," Spot replied curtly, folding his arms. "Put that away – someone will see." It only made sense for Jones, the leader of the Bronx, to send Cecelia. She was the only weakness he had ever had. "When you send word back to Jones, tell him I thought we were supposed to be on the same side, not trying to hurt each other."

"Spot," she murmured, the softness of her voice catching him off guard. "Jones sent me because I know Brooklyn like the back of my hand, not because of what we had. I told him you would react like this, but he wouldn't listen. This isn't personal."

Whether he believed her or not, he grabbed her arm and started walking her off the dock, toward the lodging house. Seeing her, touching her, hearing her soft accent again, it was driving his crazy. It was unfair. She had ended things with him, and yet there she was. It was as if Jones was taunting him, wanting to break him. Spot still had no idea why Cecelia had left in the first place. She hadn't just left him; she'd left all of Brooklyn. Until five minutes prior, he hadn't known where she'd gone.

"I believe you know the way," he muttered as they entered the lodging house. He let go of her arm as they reached the stairs and his gaze followed her as she went up, though he stayed below to find the only person he knew who could get to the bottom of this.

Dragon was not always the easiest person to find, but Spot knew his best friend and top informant better than anyone and was certain the other boy was in the house. Judging by the time of day, the best bet was the kitchen. His instincts did not disappoint him as he shoved the door open, seeing Dragon leaning back in a chair at the table. At the sight of Spot he sat up quickly.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," he said, raising an eyebrow. He stood slowly as Spot advanced on him, concerned but not feeling threatened. "What's wrong?"

"Cecelia Luchese," Spot said, his voice in a low growl. "Ring any bells?"

"Of course I remember Cecelia," Dragon answered, watching Spot with a steady gaze. "Why?"

"She's upstairs," Spot continued, running his hand through his hair. "Jones sent her. She's the liaison from the Bronx." Dragon whistled softly and Spot shook his head. "I know. I can't believe he would do that, you know? Why her?"

"You talked to her yet?"

"Not much, except to get her here," he said, scowling. "She says it's nothing personal. How could she say that?" He hadn't seen her for months. Any time he thought of her, he felt like he was falling apart. He was Spot Conlon, and he wasn't supposed to fall apart. Not for her, not for anyone. She was the only person who had ever made him falter.

"Go talk to her, I'll find out what I can," Dragon said, shoving the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth as he headed out the backdoor. Spot found himself standing alone in the kitchen, folding his arms and considering his options. Without much hesitation, he headed up the stairs to his room. Every step was harder than the last as he anticipated talking to Cecelia. He shouldn't be scared of her, or anything she had to say, but he was not one for rejection. Technically speaking, she had never actually rejected him. She had just disappeared.

When he opened the door he was greeted with a painfully familiar sight. There was Cecelia, curled up on his bunk. At his entrance she sat up, but it was too late. He closed his eyes for a moment as he pushed the door shut and then looked down at her.

"You never even said goodbye," he said, immediately cursing himself for how desperate he sounded. His heart was beating faster, just looking at her, and he kept his gaze on her as she stood.

"I wanted to," she whispered, shaking her head. "Spot, you have no idea –"

"You left, you didn't say a word, and now here you are," he said, his tone harsher now. "You could have written. You could have stopped by, it's not like the Bronx is that far away. No. You let me believe you didn't want to. For fuck's sake, Celia, for all I know it's torturing you to be here."

"It's not," she interjected, taking a step toward him. "Spot, please, listen? I know I have no right, expecting you to believe me, but please –"

"Do you have any idea what you did?" he hissed, fighting to maintain what little composure he had left. "Ce, I've never… there's never been anyone else who made me feel this way. You drove me crazy, then you left, and now you're here. You were in the Bronx this whole time. Just an afternoon's walk away. All I can assume is that you were through and wanted a clean break. Why actually talk to me about it when you can just walk away?"

"Don't do this," she pleaded, her eyes brimming with tears. "You're mad, I know. Spot, please, just listen?" He shook his head, his heart beating harder against his ribcage as tears started to slip from her eyes.

"I can't do this right now, Celia," he muttered. She wiped the tears off her face, watching him for a long moment before walking to the door. He didn't look at her, just waiting to hear the door latch behind her. As soon as the click rang true, he threw himself onto his bed with a groan.

As if this wasn't going to be hard enough, there she was. The bed was still slightly warm from where she had been laying – the pillow smelled like her hair, lavender and sweet. He closed his eyes, trying not to focus on her. It was hard when she was the only person he had thought of for months. All this time wanting her back, not knowing where she was. The thought of her being so close and not coming to him made his stomach turn. She was the one person he'd loved.

They had met innocently enough. Over the years in Brooklyn, he had made a daily routine for himself. He was the leader. He rose before anyone else and went out, walking through the streets of his city as the sun rose. It was his way of gauging the day, knowing how it would go. He would breathe in the scent of the city, tasting the rain and the wind. The success of the day would be decided before it even started.

It had been a normal morning when he met Cecelia. He walked through many of the same streets each day, but would stray from the familiar path. That was when he had seen her. She had been standing outside a bakery, trying to force the awning open. When he offered to help, she flashed him that endearing smile of hers, her dark hair falling out of its unkempt bun. In no hurry to get back to the house, he stayed and helped her set up the outside of the shop. She'd snuck him breakfast in return before she had to go back inside, before she could get caught lingering out with him.

Later that day he'd found himself walking down that street again. With only one paper left, he entered the shop. The shopkeeper threatened to throw him out, but there she had been, waiting for him. Cecelia appeared from the backroom and lied to her boss, saying she had asked him to bring her a paper. Her shift had been over, then, and she followed him outside. The mischief in her eyes refused to extinguish as she asked him to come and see her again the next day.

She had no idea who he was – maybe that was what drew him to her in the beginning. There were no expectations. She was interested in him because of him, not because he was Spot Conlon. This girl who he met on a whim, by chance, wanted to meet with him again. And again and again. Every day, the same sweet words fell from her lips. He would bring her a newspaper and she would bring him something to eat. For weeks they ate together, their lunches spent in the far corners of the city – far from anyone who expected anything from him and from anyone who would keep tabs on her.

Spot would spend as much time as he could spare with her – away from the docks and the newsies. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy his leadership; it was just that he enjoyed the breaks from reality. Eventually he had taken her into his world, and she had embraced it entirely. She didn't look at him any differently after she knew who he was. There wasn't much for him to learn about her that he hadn't known already. She lived by herself – her parents had died a few years prior. They had come from Italy when she was young, and despite being brought up in New York she had maintained an accent that showed her heritage.

This was the girl who had made him happy in ways he never imagined. She treated him like a normal person, not like someone untouchable. As much as he enjoyed his status, it did not lead to meaningful friendships or anything more. Dragon was a fluke – a leftover from before he was in charge. This was the first girl who had been more than just another notch in his bedpost.

Then she had disappeared. There were no words, no notes. She had left nothing for him to find, nothing to explain her absence. Gone. The newsies of Brooklyn felt the effects of her departure, and Spot sunk past where he had ever been before. Dragon had been sent everywhere to try and find her, to the point that he flat out refused to go on any more errands for Spot unless they had nothing to do with Cecelia. For months he had put those around him through hell as he wallowed in his own self pity. He was certain they were close to uprooting him from his position, casting him aside. It wasn't fitting for someone like him to be broken up about some girl. It was only when he felt truly threatened that he pushed her to the back of his mind, keeping his emotions to himself once again.

Now she was back. She had shown up like nothing had happened, with a Bronx crucifix around her neck. There was no way she was a newsie – Cecelia had never tried to be one when she was in Brooklyn, it was doubtful she would have resorted to it across the river. How had Jones found her, and why was he doing this? Spot sat up quickly as he thought over all the conversations he'd had with anyone from the Bronx.

Had he ever mentioned her to them? He couldn't remember. "Dragon," he said under his breath, glancing out the window, as if willing his friend to be walking up to the house. Not surprisingly, he wasn't. Spot frowned as he reminded himself to send Dragon to the Bronx as soon as he got back. He wouldn't like it, but Spot couldn't find it in himself to care. He had to know what was going on.


	2. Chapter 2

Waking up early came naturally to Spot, but for Dragon it was harder. It took Spot practically pulling him off his bunk before he muttered a few curses under his breath and opened his eyes. "What the fuck do you want?" he greeted his leader, his voice scratching against his throat. He was clearly not pleased with the fact that it wasn't even daylight yet.

"I want you to go to the Bronx and find out what the hell is going on," Spot muttered. Dragon glared at him, rolling back over and burying his face in the pillow. "Dragon, stop being an ass."

"I will when you will!" came the muffled reply. Spot grabbed a pillow off a nearby bunk and whipped it around, hitting his friend hard. "Jesus!" He rolled back over and sat up, grabbing his pillow in defense.

"I'm not asking," Spot said, his eyes narrowed. "I'm ordering you to go find out what they're doing. Find out why she's here – how he got her to come." Dragon stared at him, anger shining clear in his eyes. Spot knew it wasn't the best move, waking him up so early and demanding something he knew was not agreeable, but he didn't have much of a choice. "You should probably leave soon; it's not getting any closer."

His gaze didn't leave his friend until Dragon had lazily gotten out of bed and made his way to the washroom, muttering under his breath the whole way. Spot just shook his head and went down to the street, going about his morning routine. His feet carried him down the street where he had first met Cecelia. He walked up to the bakery and frowned. Was he imagining her? No, she was there – the familiar head of hair, her concerned eyes looking up into his. She stood up, taking a step toward him when he stopped moving forward.

"I thought you might come here," she said softly, holding her hand out to him. He glanced down at it, fighting the flicker of a smile that passed over his face. Just like she used to, she had gotten him breakfast. When he didn't take the roll right away she moved closer to him. "You can't avoid me forever, Spot."

"I know," he said, taking the roll from her after another moment's hesitation.

"At least give me a chance to explain?" she pleaded, her hand resting on his arm. It was a comforting feeling to him, just to have her touch him. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before nodding. She was right – he couldn't avoid her, and he truly didn't want to. She'd caught him by surprise, and he wasn't sure how to deal with her. His body was telling him to take her in and ask no questions, but he knew better. For everything she was to him, she deserved a chance to tell him why she'd disappeared from him so quickly.

"Not here," he said, opening his eyes. Cecelia looked surprised, more than anything else. She hadn't been expecting him to listen. He knew she wouldn't blame him. She never did, not for anything. "We'll go back to the house."

The walk back was not as awkward as either of them expected. No words were exchanged. Despite his first impulse, he did not reach out and take her hand. Just having her there made his heart beat a little faster. He hoped Dragon would come back with good news, and quickly. He didn't want to make a decision based on one side of the story. All he wanted to hear from her was why she had left. That was the only thought that ran through his head as they made their way up the stairs in the house. The question that had been plaguing him for weeks, for months, was going to be answered.

He shut the door behind him and walked across his room, settling onto his bed. She sat down across from him, her hands folded in her lap. Her gaze met his for a fleeting moment before she looked back down at her hands. "I want to know why you left."

"I know," she murmured, not flinching at how direct his words were. "I've thought about it every day I've been gone. Thinking of how it could have gone differently, what I could have done. I wish I could have told you…"

"What happened?" His tone was harsher now, his eyes boring into her.

"I told you my parents died," she said, carefully considering her words. "Which is true. I didn't tell you about my brother, Alessio. He left not long after we arrived here; I hadn't seen him in years. He didn't come when our parents passed on; I had no idea where he was. Then one day he showed up at my apartment – he must have saved the address from when I tried to contact him about mother and father." She shook her head, swallowing hard. "He was just there, and told me we were leaving. He had packed my things, taken some of them already. I had been here all night and work all morning, who knows how long he had been waiting for me. There was no choice. I asked if I could go tell you, or leave a note, and he just dragged me out of the apartment."

Spot's steady gaze had narrowed, his arms crossed tight across his chest. She continued. "He took me to the Bronx. He never really explained anything to me, where he'd come from or why we were there. Alessio just kept a careful eye on me, not letting me go out except to work. Any time I tried to get away, he would find me. I tried to get a message to you, but I guess none of them did." She studied him for a moment, and then shook her head. "I had talked to several newsies there, to get word to you. None of them came to you. The only thing they did was let Jones know that I was there, who I was. He's smart, the way he does things. He didn't want to send one of his own over here, knowing how much you wouldn't trust them."

"So he sent you," Spot finished for her. "How did you get away from your brother?"

"I left in the middle of work," she admitted, her cheeks flushing. "I've never skipped out of work before, but I knew there was no other way. I know I should have tried sooner," she said, catching his eye, "but I was scared – of how you would react. I never meant to leave you like I did, and you have every right to be angry with me. It wasn't until Jones came to me that I realized you might still want me. He wouldn't have asked me to come if it wasn't the case. I'm sorry, Spot. I'm so, so sorry."

He felt pangs in his chest when he saw the tears trailing down her face. Instinctively, he leaned over and brushed them away with his fingertips. They were warm against his cold fingers, but she didn't flinch at his cool touch. He listened as her breath caught in her throat, her eyelids fluttering shut as she leaned her face against his outstretched hand. His other hand ran through her hair, his mind racing as his hands slowly took her in. She hadn't left him, she had been taken. He had no need of proof – she'd never lied to him before and the truth was written all over her face.

Spot moved in, not even realizing how close he was until he heard how shaky her breathing had become. Cecelia's eyes were open now, watching him as he cradled her face in his hands. He opened his mouth, not sure of what he was planning to say, but stopped when her fingers trailed along the side of his face. She was intoxicating to him, and there was only so much he could handle before he broke. Her slender fingertips passed over his lips and he breathed in sharply.

His lips pressed against hers, sweet at first and then desperate. He was still hungry for her, especially after the months of not having her. Her fingers twisted into his hair as she moved her lips against his, matching his passion and urgency. His arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her down onto the bed, leaning over her. It sounded to him that his heart was beating faster and louder than ever before, its pulse echoing in his ears as he moved his kisses along her jaw, down to her neck. Her skin was softer than he remembered and he savored it, tugging at her shirt lightly before slipping his hands up under it.

Cecelia's hands moved into her hair as she arched her back off the bed, pushing into him and his touch. His fingers skimmed the bare skin of her stomach. A whimper slipped from her lips, so soft he almost missed it. He undid the buttons of her shirt, starting at the top. His lips moved to her collarbone and she squirmed underneath him, her hands leaving her hair and trailing down his chest. After their time apart, they wanted to take all the time they could to enjoy this, their first moment together again.

He breathed in sharply as her hands came to rest on the waistband of his pants, her fingers curling tight around it. His hands ran over her chest, down her stomach, and came to rest on her hips. She pulled herself up to him, her breath warm on his neck as his thumbs rubbed against her hipbones. She rubbed her foot along his calf. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, gripping her harder as she pulled his suspenders off his shoulders. As her fingers tightened on the front of his shirt, he rested his hand on her calf, pushing her skirt as he moved his hand upward.

Once again, their lips connected in a kiss, one of longing more than anything else. There was more urgency there than before, and they both fumbled as they tried to get closer. He growled lightly into her mouth as she pulled his hips flush with hers. His fingers grazed her thigh as he moved her skirt further, and she bit his lower lip, moaning softly. Her gentle fingers were undoing his pants as he rested his forehead against hers, his breath heavy against her lips. While the anticipation was killing both of them, Spot knew he wouldn't trade it for the world. Having her there, able to enjoy her, he would take as much time as he could stand.

Their bodies moved together after he eased into her, and it wasn't much longer before he was laying on top of her, spent, his lean body pressed against her slender frame. His head was cradled against the soft skin of her chest, his ear was pressed to her sternum as he listened to her breathe, listened to her heart beat. Her fingers stroked their familiar pattern through his hair, her eyes closed. The sunlight streaming in the window fell warm on their exposed skin, and a smile broke across Spot's face.

"What?" she murmured, feeling his smile against her skin. His answer never came, as the door to his room swung open without warning.

"Well," said Dragon, his tone drier than usual as he leaned against the doorframe. "Glad to know you've been getting to the bottom of this in my absence."

"Shut up and shut the door," Spot muttered, taking one last moment to savor her touch before he moved off her, pulling his clothes back on as he stood. Cecelia pulled the covers of his bed around her, rolling over so her back was to Dragon. That seemed to suit him just fine, his gaze not wavering from his leader as he kicked the door shut. "You got back quick."

"Well, it's not that hard you know," Dragon said, the slow drawl of his voice as aggravating as ever to Spot. "I got there, told them what I wanted to know, and I didn't have to wait for answer because he came with me."

"Who did?" Spot asked, pausing in the buttoning of his shirt to look over at his friend. Not needing an answer once he saw the expression on Dragon's face, he exhaled in a slow hiss. "Shit. You've got to be kidding me."

"Not at all," Dragon continued with obvious amusement on his face. "He was going to come up with me, but decided to wait downstairs. Good thing, too. I don't know how he'll take you sleeping with his liaison."

"Shut up," Spot snapped, growing tired of saying the same two words to his good friend over and over again. It seemed like all Dragon did was push his buttons until he had to tell him to back off, and it was only going to get worse the longer Cecelia was there. He opened his mouth to say a few choice words to him, but stopped when a loud knock came on the door. "What is it?"

"Mind if I come in, Conlon?" The deep voice on the other side was definitely not one he wanted to hear. Cecelia sat up, but none of them reacted quickly enough. The door opened for the second time and there was Jones, the leader of the Bronx, walking into the room to find Spot midway through dressing himself and Cecelia thoroughly undressed, tangled in the sheets. Dragon merely stepped back against the wall, removing himself from the scene. Jones stared at the two in front of him, his expression changing from amusement to anger in the blink of an eye. When he did speak again, it was with an edge of ice in his voice.

"I would love to hear what's going on, here, Conlon."


End file.
